My home was supposed to be my sanctuary, but my neighbor Helen turned it into a daily fight. I’d wake up tense, never sure if I’d get a break or another attack. Quiet days felt like traps waiting to spring, and when she struck, I knew it was her—until a cryptic note, “You need to know the truth about your husband,” unraveled everything I thought I knew.
After losing my mom, Dave and I moved in, craving a fresh start. Helen crushed that hope quick. She acted like Dave didn’t exist but hounded me nonstop. Her mangy dog shredded my roses, she axed my shady oak for crossing her line, and once called the cops on our 6 p.m. cookout for “noise.” I gave up gardening—why bother with her around?
One sunny day, I was tending the yard when a torrent of water blasted me, soaking me through. I yelped, spotting her hose aimed my way. “Stop it, you spiteful bat!” I shouted. She leaned over, smug, “Oops, didn’t notice you, Karen.” “Liar!” I roared. “It’s water—relax,” she said, ducking back. Drenched and mad, I marched in. Dave looked up, “What’s with you?” “Helen!” I spat. “You knew her growing up—deal with her!” He pushed moving instead, but I snapped, “She’s not chasing me out!”
Dave never faced her, claiming work kept him late—nearing 50, I figured he was sorting retirement plans, not secrets. He pressed to sell, but I held firm—this was my turf. Then I saw Helen’s son, Pete, at her place, weary but kind. “Hi, Karen,” he said. “Your mom’s a terror,” I replied. “I’ll try talking to her,” he offered. How was he so good when she was so rotten? Gossip said her man split when she was expecting—Pete must’ve dodged her venom.
Sipping coffee outside, needing calm, Helen bragged, “Pete’s climbing the ladder—wedding soon.” “Great,” I said flatly. “Tough, huh? No kids to brag about,” she jabbed. That hurt—I’d yearned for motherhood, but Dave stalled, and now, at 50, it was gone. “Go rot, Helen!” I yelled, storming in, crushed.
Next day, post-market, Dave’s car was missing. A mail check revealed an unmarked note: “You need to know the truth about your husband,” listing a park time. Heart pounding, I lied about errands and went. Helen strode up. “You again?” I groaned. “It’s time,” she said, flashing a pic—Dave smooching a young woman. “No way,” I choked. “He’s done it before—with me,” she said. “He left me pregnant with Pete for you.”
I sank down, “He’s Pete’s dad?” “Yes,” she nodded. “I didn’t know,” I whispered. Her edge faded, “You didn’t?” “Never—I’d have run.” She softened, “I misjudged you.” “Why now?” I asked. “You shouldn’t suffer like I did,” she said. We rode home quiet. Dave grinned, “Realtor’s set—let’s go.” “I’m staying,” I said. “I know it all—Pete, your girl.” He flinched, “Let me—” “Leave,” I ordered. He sneered, “No one wants you now.” “I’ll be fine,” I shot back. He bolted, and I stood tall—Helen and I might heal yet.
